


Black Wings Of Mourning

by MorganasCrow



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Industrial, Necromancy, Steampunk, Victoriandustrial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 09:10:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6747844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganasCrow/pseuds/MorganasCrow





	Black Wings Of Mourning

"The sky was blonde like her."

\- Marilyn Manson (Putting Holes In Happiness)

 

Morgana looked up to the dirty London sky. Even though the air was filled with smoke, ash and steam from the factories, the sun arrows were falling to the ground and flooding the world with bliss and beauty. London was reminiscent of its predecessor from 1850. And Morgana's heart was filled with misery, similar to the one in hopeless victorian slum children's hearts. But for a different reason. Morgana didn't suffer from famine and need of working in illegal company. Her chest was veiled with black, sticky grief, making her breathing difficult, chilling her heart, devouring her like cancer.

Morgana felt raindrops upon her face, though it wasn't raining. She realized she's crying. She realized where does she find herself. It wasn't one of her gothic-victoriandustrial fantasies. She was just drowning in scorching despair. Just few hours back cemetery ground seeped into her life and her beloved fiancée Morgause became Lady Bury's wife. And Morgana was determined to fight for Morgause until her last breath and get her back - no matter, whether bringing her back to life, or give her own.

Morgana entered her apartment. Under common circumstances she'd make some tea and then she'd be waiting for Morgause to come back, to be allowed to hug her, kiss the dent of her collarbone and massage her soft shoulders to release the tension. Because Morgause's boss was absolute dickhead and her office job was so stressful. Was. Morgana felt she's not far from crying. She needed to ventilate her grief somehow. Still she was wearing her strange clothes. Some may find it disrespectful... not sufficient for the funeral. Morgana didn't care about the others' opinion though. Morgause loved this fashionwear and that was all that mattered. It really was an extravagant piece of clothing - inspired with 19th century romantism, steampunk and postmodern industrial. Loosen scarlet frilly shirt, historic corsellet, very short skirt, tattered black & white stripped stockings in garters, long lacing fingerless gloves, tall leather platform metal-toe boots with studded belts, silk ribbon around her waist, lace around her neck and steampunk goggles on the top of her head.

As I've said before, under common circumstances Morgana would dedicate herself to Morgause. Now she needs to ventilate her grief, though. She walked to the bedroom, towards the distant wall. When she bent down to pick up her electroacoustic guitar, she caught a glimpse of the case, slowly morphing into a dust catcher. Her eyes drizzled again. She will never again hear the sweet brumendo only Morgause was able to summon from her cello. Morgana sat down on the bed hard and began to caress the fingerboard of the guitar. The room filled itself with sorrowful blues riffs. Morgana didn't play by notes. She played by heart. Suddenly she realized the melody of her homeland - irish folk song _Amazing Grace_ \- crept into the gloomy tones of American black music. She let herself float upon the memories of sweet emerald island for a while. Then her heart burst into fire of hope.

 

Morgana stole into the gloomy victorian cemetery. Moss embraced crumbling gravestones were the only witnesses of her behaviour. If someone found her here, she'd probably hang down from the gallows in the shadow valley by the dawn as a graverobber. At least she would have dreamt with her beloved Morgause in eternal sleep again. But there was no time for apprehensions. 'twas time to light up the moon and embrace Death herself.

Morgana sat down at the feet of Morgause's grave. Goldilock left in full bloom. In her heart was buried a jewel. And Morgana could sell it to the merchant of death. She resonated the strings of her guitar to lure the irish ferryman. When she began to sing, the covered voice did sound nothing like hers:

_"Come forth, Bean Sidhe, the fairy ov Death_

_And lead my beloved to the merry of Earth,_

_Or Come, dusk, and fill my chalice of sorrow_

_To crown my dear the Queen of the Dead and make me her thrall."_

Morgana muted and harkened to the graveish breeze. Weeping willows were bending above her and their leaves whirred like the voices from the dead. The flock of crows loudly circled above her head. People once believed, Morgana remembered, that if someone dies, the crow carries its soul into the land of the dead. But sometimes something so bad happens the soul cannot find its rest. And from time to time the crow can carry the soul back to put things right. Morgana's eyes widened with apprehensions and hope. She felt a chilling stare in her back and she turned around immediately. A tall, noble, pale figure in the grey burial gown towered in front of her, wind was playing with her hair, her piercing pale deep blue eyes chilling Morgana to the core. The silver fairy spoke in silent, soothing voice: "If you wish to meet your darling, I can arrange a meeting." Morgana was standing like thunderstruck and was opening her mouth wordlessly for few seconds. Then, with the pearls of tears sparkling in her eyes, she gave a mute nod. The mythical girl held her shoulders in a tight grasp: "Art thou aknowledged then, thy time to fly away with me upon the undesirable wings faraway has come?" Morgana nodded and in a caped voice whispered the word of agreement.

Banshee wailed into the dead of night... and Morgana's heart shattered like glass. Somewhere over the rainbow in the dark she opened her eyes, lead by the cold hand of Banshee, lead like the marionette straight towards leprauchan's pot. And as soon as she recognized the essence of the treasure, she tore the strings and ran like Hell to clasp Morgause in her arms once again.

 

" I'm so empty here without you"

\- Marilyn Manson (The Last Day On Earth)

"Your eyes getting blurry,  
Still I'm crying your name."  
\- Apocalyptica feat. Linda Sundblad (Faraway 2)


End file.
